


After the First High

by completelyhopeless



Series: Two Circus Birds [9]
Category: DCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick's initial relief at learning his friend is alive gets complicated by his lack of trust in Batman/Bruce, and Clint tries to help him pick up the pieces, but it's Batman who needs to fix it, and Clint knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the First High

**Author's Note:**

> And here I thought it would be fluffy and fun for a while. I forgot about addressing the fallout of Dick learning Clint was alive. This got angstier than I had thought, but then... it might be for a good cause?
> 
> These things are also getting longer and longer on me. I'm not sure I like this pattern.

* * *

“This place sucks.”

Clint opened his eyes, frowning at the shadows until he realized that they'd settled into the form of Gotham's Boy Wonder, cape and all. He wasn't sure how Dick did it, dressed up like that and went out in the night. He looked ridiculous, for one thing, all those bright colors and the mask that shouldn't hide anything, but then Clint was going to blame the fact that he hadn't recognized his friend on the new training Robin had, the prep school and rich guardian that made Dick talk differently, and the fact that Dick's voice had already started breaking.

“We can't all live in rich manor houses and go to prep school.”

“Who says we want to?”

Clint sat up, reaching for his bow. “Damn it, Dick, if that Wayne creep did something to you—”

“He didn't. Why does everyone have to jump to that—never mind. I know about sick creeps in the orphanages. Forget it. It's not like that with me and him. It's screwed up, but it's not that kind of messed up. It's just... He's distant. He's not a father. He's barely there, in both literal and metaphorical senses of the word.”

Clint set his bow down again, rising from his bed. “Something's bothering you.”

“Shouldn't it be bothering you?” Dick asked, though Clint wasn't sure he could go on talking to Dick when he was dressed like Robin. “Three years. It was over _three_ years. I thought you died the night my parents did.”

Clint swallowed. He should have known it was like that. The only other reason he would have thought Dick wouldn't have looked for him and dragged him in to that mansion of his was if the Wayne guy was a pervert. Dick would have found him years ago, just like Clint would have if he'd believed that Dick was alive.

“I thought you had,” he admitted. “I thought you died with your parents.”

Dick's hand went to his head, rubbing at his forehead. “I don't understand. I know I—I told him that you couldn't be dead because I'd seen you afterward. You saw me. I know you did. You told me Swordsman had done it.”

“I know. I remembered that, too, but Barney and Trickshot told me I'd hallucinated it.”

“You know they lied to you?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. He still hated it, and a part of him still hated his brother, but Barney was all he had left, but he wasn't about to lose that. He didn't want to lose anything else, and he had to do something because even after Barney's lies, Clint was the one who'd hurt him, who'd put him in the hospital and almost killed him. “I confronted Barney about it when I put an arrow in him. He said you wouldn't have cared.”

“He always did hate me,” Dick muttered. He shook his head. “I didn't know you were alive. I asked Bruce about Barney, but he told me your brother moved on. I don't know if that was a lie. I don't... I wish I understood where the hell I stood with him. It would be easy to think he lied if I knew he really wanted me around, but I don't feel like he does half the time. I don't know what to think now. I was so _damn_ happy when I figured out it was you on that rooftop. It was like I was high. Babs thought I was crazy. Alfred followed me around like he was afraid I'd done something wrong or maybe he thought I was high, too. Then it hit me that I'd lived three years worth of a lie, and I kind of hit bottom. Hard.”

Clint nodded. “I was there when I found out Barney lied. He... I know he was jealous of how close we were, but I didn't think he would go that far. And he had this whole head trip trying to stop me from hunting down Swordsman, kept saying I was going to get myself killed, but if he'd _once_ admitted that you weren't dead, I don't know that I would have kept going after him. It felt like the only thing I _could_ do, but if you were alive, then maybe I wouldn't have thought that. I wouldn't have trained with Trickshot and I wouldn't have...”

“I went after Swordsman.”

“You did?”

Dick nodded. “How do you think I ended up Robin? I found him when Batman couldn't. It helped that I had a picture and a pair of puppy dog eyes. People told me things I don't think they would have told him.”

Clint shook his head. “I know they worked on your parents and everyone in the circus, but that can't really be how you found Swordsman. I was putting arrows in legs to get people to talk before Barney stopped me.”

Dick shrugged. “What can I say? I'm cuter than you.”

“You are not.”

Dick grinned under the mask, but then he swore, jumping out of the seat. “She's gonna kill me. I'm late and I've got our lab assignment. There goes my only other friend.”

“Your only other friend is an elephant.”

“Barbara would kick your ass for saying that,” Dick said. Then he hit himself in the head. “Okay, that was low. Not going there again. She'd kill me, and I'd deserve it. And Zitka should run me over, too.”

“Or I could just shoot you.”

“That would be too easy,” Dick muttered. He sighed. “Can I hire you for protection? Maybe then I'll be safe from Babs' wrath.”

“You couldn't afford me.”

“True, I've only got,” Dick stopped, reaching into some pocket Clint couldn't see, “fifty cents unless I hack Bruce's bank accounts again.”

Clint laughed, but as Dick waved, jumping out the window, he had to wonder when his friend had learned how to hack and if that was where the money had come from for Barney's medical bills. If it was, he and Dick needed to talk.

* * *

“Your school is full of dorks.”

“I'm not gonna argue that,” Dick said, leaning over the rooftop and looking down at the other kids. He hated this school, and he hated the kids more than anything. Too much money, too many years of inbreeding snobbery. Everyone here was a jerk besides Babs, and that included the teachers.

“How'd you know I was up here? I was just thinking about about shooting an arrow to get your attention.”

Dick laughed. “Come on, Clint. It may have been three years, but you know me better than that. I _hate_ being on the ground. I'm supposed to be in the sky. I used to spend all my time there. When my parents died, I thought it was gone, that I couldn't do it anymore.”

“So now you jump off rooftops instead. With Batman.”

“You have an issue with my career choice? I thought we said we were going to grow up and get rid of the monsters,” Dick said, sitting on the edge of the roof and leaning his head back, taking in some of the sun. “That's what I do.”

Clint sat down next to him. “How far do you plan on taking that?”

“Batman has a no killing policy. I think he's afraid of himself and what he'd do if he ever started killing. He'd never stop, so he can't ever start.” Dick closed his eyes. “I don't know. I think I would have killed Swordsman if I could have. I wanted him to pay for what he'd done to my parents and you. I still do.”

“Me, too.” Clint touched his shoulder. “Dick, I don't—”

“It wasn't your fault,” Dick said, sitting up. “It _wasn't,_ Clint. Never, ever believe that. Swordsman did it, and he may have done it because he wanted revenge, but that doesn't mean that you're to blame. He had no right to hurt you the way he did. He shouldn't have been allowed to do it _once._ I'm glad we were able to take you away from him. I don't regret that.”

Clint stared at him. “How can you say that? Your parents are dead because of me.”

“I didn't want my parents to die, and I wish they were alive. I just... don't blame you and can't wish you were dead in their place or anything like that,” Dick told him. He pulled his legs up against his chest, putting his head on his knees. His chest hurt. He didn't want to think about his parents. It still hurt too much.

“Dick?”

“Sorry. I don't... I still don't... I can't think about them without... It's so hard to breathe, and I can't cry because... Because everyone around me thinks it's weak except Barbara and I hate that I think she pities me. I swear he'll take away Robin if I cry in front of him and...”

Clint dragged him over to his side, hugging him. Dick looked up at him. Since when did they hug? He didn't remember Clint _ever_ hugging him before. He'd hugged Clint, but Clint never wanted him to do it. Hugs were only for Barney, for his brother, not for Dick.

“I'm glad you're not dead. I'm just scared that I'll wake up and have it all be a stupid dream or something. Maybe I've gone nuts or it's a toxin or pollen—Scarecrow or Poison Ivy could have done it—and when it wears off, you won't be here again. I'll be all alone.”

“No,” Clint insisted. “You're not alone. You won't be alone again.”

* * *

“Alfred?”

“Yes, Miss Gordon. Is there something I can help you with?”

She leaned back against the wall, wishing this pay phone had more privacy and hoping she wouldn't get caught in the hall without permission. “Did Dick go home sick today? Because he was late to science this morning, and I haven't seen him all afternoon. I was just...”

“Just?”

Her father should hire Alfred to do interrogations. The way he said things combined with his accent was dangerous. She sighed. “I was worried about him. He was acting weird, and now he's gone, and I don't know if he's sick or if something else is going on.”

“I'm afraid Master Richard may be acting as any boy his age might and cutting class. I will discuss the matter with Master Bruce. Thank you for informing me of his absence.”

Barbara hung up, frustrated. She knew Dick, and she knew he hated it here, but it wasn't like him to cut class, either. Dick was one of those people who was just deep down _good._ He didn't know how to be anything else. He wouldn't ditch, not without a good reason.

She just hoped that good reason wasn't something that was going to end up with him hurt.

* * *

“You were the one that said my place sucked. Why are you here again? And why are you dressed like Robin?” Clint demanded. He had stayed with Dick long after the kids at his school left, and Dick had said that he was going home. Why was he back here in the middle of the night?

“It's safer to be in this part of town as Robin. Batman's reputation is a protection for Robin. They don't mess with me unless they want to make Batman angry.”

Clint rubbed his head. “Dick, did you listen at all to how screwed up that logic is? How many people in the world are _going_ to hurt you because of him? How many people _have?_ Do you hold some kind of world record for how many times you've been kidnapped yet?”

“No,” Dick said, laughing in a way that did not sound healthy. “I'm sure I will, though.”

Clint shook his head. He didn't know how Dick had managed to get this screwed up while he was gone, but Clint _would_ fix this somehow. He wouldn't let things get any worse, at least. He rose, going over to Dick's side. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't lie to me. You know I know better than that.”

Dick took off his mask and unhooked his cape. He pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his costume and zipped it up. He didn't look much like Robin now, and he didn't look like the kid at the prep school, either. Clint frowned. How many different roles did Dick have? How much did that mess with someone's mind?

“I couldn't make myself go in the house. I don't know what to do. I don't know why Bruce lied to me. I can understand Barney lying to you. He hated me and wanted you far away from me, so it makes sense that he'd tell you I was dead. He probably figured he was doing the right thing, but Bruce? What did he gain by it? Me? He doesn't even _want_ me. Not as a son. Not as a sidekick. Not as something sick. So what is it? I don't understand.”

“I don't know, but we'll figure it out. Stop letting it torture you.” Clint nudged him. “I might even let you have a pillow.”

“I don't need a pillow. I just need... not to be alone.”

Clint knew that feeling. It used to drive him from Swordsman's trailer to the Grayson's, to Dick's part of it where he could listen to his friend breathe and feel safe. He reached over and got the pillow. “Go to sleep, Dick. We'll fix this tomorrow.”

* * *

“You need a damned bell.”

Dick didn't look back at his friend. He couldn't. He still didn't know what to do with himself. He should just be happy that Clint was alive and that should be the end of it. He shouldn't be too afraid to confront Bruce about why he'd lied, and he shouldn't care about losing the house. He would miss Alfred, and he would lose Robin, but was that worth all of this?

“Why'd you sneak off if you weren't going to actually go to school?”

“Going to school is like pretending it can all go on like it was, and I think we both know that it can't,” Dick said. “I just... I don't know how to fix this. Money never mattered to me before, so it shouldn't bother me to lose Bruce's. It's not mine, none of it was—”

“Did you steal what you used to pay Barney's hospital bills?”

“No. I guess I have some kind of trust fund or something. I don't know how it happened. I didn't think my parents had much money, but Alfred said they set aside something for me. I'm not supposed to use it until I'm older, but it's _mine.”_

Clint sat down next to him. “I'm not judging you. I can't. Trickshot never was good with money. The things I did to survive weren't good.”

“You'll always be good to me,” Dick said. “Always my friend.”

“This is getting... sappy.”

“Yeah. Since when are we sappy? No, don't answer that. You want to shoot something?” Dick asked, getting to his feet. “I don't have targets, but we can make some. We'll see if your bow is better than my Batarang.”

“I'll win.”

“No, you won't.”

“Did you or did you not name me Hawkeye? I'm gonna win.”

* * *

Barbara should have checked the roof yesterday. She'd dismissed it because she'd assumed that Dick had gone home sick, but after he didn't come to class twice, she'd decided that even if it was crazy, it was a better idea than waiting for answers from Alfred or Bruce. Her father's friend was a good enough guy, but he was really bad at taking care of Dick.

She didn't know why she'd gotten herself mixed up with him, but she was too far gone now. She cared about what happened to him. She wanted to help him, and she couldn't until she knew what was going on. Something was wrong, though. Between that weird happy act and this new disappearing act, she knew he was in trouble.

She peeked out from the door, frowning when she saw Dick with another boy. The kid had a bow, and Barbara swallowed, needing more information. She knew her father had mentioned a crackpot going around putting arrows in members of a gang, and the other cops were trying to blame it on Batman, but her father had said he didn't think it was Batman.

She thought she knew now who it was, but he was only a kid.

Not Robin. Robin had dark hair and didn't use a bow.

“Nice shot.”

“Told you I'd win.”

“You haven't won anything,” Dick said, laughing. He did a flip backward and threw out something black and small. She edged forward, around the wall by the door, trying to see where it had landed.

“You cheat. Those things are programmed to hit their targets. What would your mother say if she knew her little birdy had become a cheater?”

“I think she'd say it was the only way to play with a kid who has the eyes of a hawk.”

“Liar.”

Dick nodded, surprising Barbara by being able to smile and joke about anything to do with his parents. “I missed this.”

“So did I.”

“You know what else I miss?”

“Flying.”

“Yeah.”

The other kid studied him. “You don't think it's taking the bird name thing too far?”

“Us?”

They both laughed. The archer fixed a string to his arrow, firing it at the building next to them. He gave Dick a salute before jumping off, and Dick rolled his eyes before flipping off the roof. Barbara forgot about hiding and ran to the edge, needing to know that Dick hadn't killed himself with that stunt. She saw him take hold of the other boy's rope, using it to land next to his friend.

She hadn't heard a name, but she'd bet anything that Dick's friend Clint was alive, that he was the archer her father was worried about. That gang he was after—it was the one used by the man who'd killed Dick's parents.

And Dick...

Dick could be headed down a very bad path.

* * *

“Master Bruce, I need to speak to you about Master Richard.”

“Not now.”

“He did not come home last night.”

“What?”

Alfred let out a breath. “I had thought perhaps he was with you, but he was not, was he? The school called. He missed a second day of classes after failing to attend yesterday afternoon. His friend Miss Gordon is quite worried about him.”

“He hasn't been kidnapped. There's been no demands. Not for me, not for Batman.”

“That does not mean all is well with him. You know this. He is dangerously unhappy. I had hoped that Miss Gordon's presence in his life would change that, and indeed, she seemed to help him through this most recent anniversary, but his behavior suggests that she was not enough. He has run away before, and he could be chasing the same demons again.” Alfred shook his head. “Your argument for making that boy Robin was that you would be there to stop him from getting hurt in his pursuit of justice. However, you are so afraid of losing him that you are unwilling to let him close to you in any way that matters, and it is clear to me that the boy resents it. You cannot continue in this manner. You have to give him what he really needs or let him go. You should have been there for the anniversary of his parents' death. You were so concerned with preventing him from learning about that archer—”

“Damn it. The archer. I have to go.”

“Master Bruce! You can't ignore—”

“If Dick is going after Swordsman, I know where I need to be.”

* * *

“I thought we discussed this.”

“And I figured there wasn't a better way to get your attention than to commit a crime,” Clint said, smiling grimly. He knew he was taking a risk, getting Batman out here, but he didn't know that he cared. He hadn't found a way to tell Dick about the rest of what he'd done, hadn't told him about his need to turn himself in—he'd started to, but Dick was too much of a mess to hear it—but if Clint had to be arrested, he'd accept that.

He just had a few things to say to Batman first.

Batman grunted, ignoring the part about being summoned. “Swordsman is dangerous. You will make an enemy of him by disabling his gang. Is that what you want?”

“He's already my enemy. I care about stopping him, which is more than you can say. I've found more of his gang in the past two weeks than you apparently have in years, and if hurting them draws him out, then I will go on hurting them,” Clint said, facing off with Batman and trying to decide if he really thought that was Bruce Wayne under the cowl. If Dick was Robin, it made sense, but he didn't see the playboy in this guy. Maybe it was a good cover, but it seemed impossible that the guy was the same person.

“You need to stop this.”

“Why, because you can't stand that a kid got further in finding this guy than you did?” Clint asked, watching for the slightest reaction Batman might give. He didn't know if Dick was teasing with his story about how he became Robin or not.

“No,” Batman said. “Swordsman has killed before. He will kill you. I am trying to stop that.”

“Like hell you are,” Clint snapped. “If you cared so much, you'd have stopped him years ago. Didn't your Robin find him once already? Why is Swordsman still out there, still free? He should be _dead.”_

“You don't know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“His fate is for a jury to decide. You are not the judge and executioner, and you don't want that role. You don't want that blood on your hands,” Batman said. Clint almost snorted. Batman had no idea the kind of blood that was already on Clint's hand. Better Swordsman stained it than his brother did, than some guard who had no idea there was an arrow coming to end his life. “You need to stop this.”

“Or what?”

“Swordsman killed a kid once. Stabbed him to death. He threw another off a building. You're too young for this.”

“And Robin isn't?”

Batman took hold of him. “Robin isn't here for a good reason. I don't want him anywhere near this. Swordsman has done enough damage already. He won't get Robin. Ever.”

“Robin is the kid he threw off a roof,” Clint said. Convenient of Dick to leave _that_ part out of the story. Swordsman had almost killed him. Again. Clint was going to have to knock some sense into his friend when this was done, but he had to deal with Batman first.

Batman frowned, but something in his expression might have been grudging respect for Clint not being an idiot and knowing _exactly_ who had gone off that roof. “Yes. He was, but he will never be in that position again. You are not going to put him there.”

“I am not the threat to your precious Robin, you idiot! _You_ are!” Clint said, kicking at the man's shin. “Don't you _get_ it? You hurt him. You hurt him every day by pulling him close and then pushing him away. He's so confused by what you want from him that he is twisted up inside. He can't figure you out, and that would lead just about any kid to assume the worst about you and why you took him in, but you haven't done that to him, so he's even more confused than before. He's stuck in a big house but it's a prison. He's alone and he hates it and don't you get that he was _never_ alone growing up? John and Mary were always there. The circus was there. It took him three years to make another friend, and he's afraid. Afraid she just pities him, afraid she'll leave him, too, and it's wrong what you've done to him. You can't make him a hero one minute and treat him like something to scrape off the bottom of your boot the next. Either he matters to you or he doesn't, but if he doesn't, then let him go. Give him back to the circus. He was happy there. You make him miserable.”

Batman lifted him higher. “You're Clint.”

“No. I'm Hawkeye. Clint is dead, according to you.”

Batman dropped him. Clint fell, hitting the floor with a wince, but before he could so much as call the guy the jerk he was, Batman had swooped out the window and disappeared.

* * *

“You lied to me. No, you got _Alfred_ to lie to me.”

“I didn't.”

Bruce should have seen it three years ago, should have looked closer, but he'd let himself get caught up in the same old fight, and he hadn't gone back even when he knew he should. He hadn't done what he should have. He hadn't investigated properly.

“Yes, you did. You're the world's greatest detective! You looked into where Barney was for me. You knew where Trickshot was. How the hell did you _not_ know that Clint was alive? Why did you lie to me?” Dick demanded, hitting him in the chest. The blow was negligible against the Kevlar, and that just made the boy angrier. “Why did you do this? Why do any of this to me? What is this, _grooming?_ Are you running some kind of experiment on me? What _is_ this?”

Bruce felt the boy tremble as he took hold of him, and there it was, the truth of every accusation Hawkeye—Clint—and Alfred had thrown at him earlier. Bruce hadn't been willing to see what keeping Dick at a distance was doing to the child. He had needed it for himself, needed to think he'd been fine if something happened to Robin, that he was doing right by keeping an eye on the child and training him to defend himself and protect others. He had given Dick everything the boy had needed. He thought that was enough.

It wasn't. It was _his_ definition of what Dick needed, and that was not the same as what the boy truly needed. Even when Dick had told him he'd rather be in the orphanage than in this limbo, Bruce had refused to believe it. He'd known where Dick should be, and it was still here, at his side and in his home. Dick belonged here.

“I didn't know,” Bruce repeated. “The hospital called Alfred and informed him of your friend's death. I didn't want to tell you at all. I thought you weren't ready to hear it. Alfred insisted, and after you asked me again to go visit Clint in the hospital, I finally agreed. I couldn't keep putting you off. Alfred was right.”

Dick tried to pull away from him. “Let go of me.”

“Not yet. I'm not finished.” Bruce looked into the boy's eyes. “You know what happened not long after your parents died, don't you?”

“Joker escaped from Arkham. Again. He also let out some of the others, too.”

“I was distracted,” Bruce agreed. He lifted Dick's chin when the boy tried to look away. “I admit it. I let those other criminals push Swordsman out of my mind. I didn't have time to look for him, and I didn't look too closely into your friend's death in the hospital. It could have happened, and it wasn't that suspicious, even if I knew I needed to do more investigating. By the time I was ready for it, though, you'd gone and found Swordsman yourself.”

“It wasn't that hard.”

“Maybe not. But it also almost got you killed.” Bruce let out a breath. “I let Swordsman go that day by going after you. I don't regret that. I wanted you alive, and I still do. You are worth ten of Swordsman, and there will be other opportunities to get him. We will make that happen. That's part of why I made you Robin.”

Dick shuddered, and Bruce didn't know what to do with him now. Alfred coughed behind them, walking up to Dick and giving the boy a nudge into Bruce's arms. Bruce glared at the butler behind the boy's back, but Alfred folded his arms over his chest in a sort of displeased satisfaction as Dick continued to shiver but not quite sob in Bruce's arms.

“I...” The words _I'm sorry_ didn't come out, so Bruce cleared his throat. “Do you think your friend Clint would want to stay with us?”

“I think he hates you,” Dick said. “But he likes me and he'll like Alfred, so... maybe.”

“Maybe is good enough for me. We'll ask him later.”

“I was ready to hate you, too. So... close,” Dick said, but his last words were slurred, and Bruce looked over at Alfred.

“I doubt he has been sleeping much, Master Bruce. It would be best if you took him to his room.”

Bruce nodded, hoping that it would be easier than he thought it would to get Clint to agree to stay with them. Somehow, he had a feeling that Hawkeye was even more stubborn than Robin was.


End file.
